Pride, Passion and Prejudice
by alassenya
Summary: Legolas has to overcome the disadvantages of his upbringing before he can find true happiness
1. Prologue: A Prince is Given

Pride, Passion and Prejudice  
  
Prologue: A Prince is Given  
  
Alassenya  
  
Summary: In which Galadriel sees Narsil reforged and Celeborn is reminded of past indiscretions.  
  
Text Note:  
  
Celeborn's history is given in at least four different versions in Tolkien's writings. I have chosen here to take the history as given in The Silmarillion, where Galadriel and Celeborn meet in Doriath, and the essay "Concerning Galadriel and Celeborn", where their journeys through Beleriand and Eriador are described. (The Silmarillion; Unfinished Tales "The History of Galadriel and Celeborn")  
  
Lothlórien: Third Age 2390  
  
Ithil kissed the mountains to the west as Galadriel slipped back into the bedchamber. Celeborn was still lying awake, waiting for her return from the mirror. He noticed that Galadriel was sombre, as she often was after scrying.   
  
"What did you see?"  
  
"Thranduil has another son. He is called Legolas."  
  
"Legolas?"  
  
"In their dialect it means Laisgelin - Green Leaves."  
  
"A beautiful name."  
  
She sighed. "The prince too will be beautiful…" her voice trailed off, but Celeborn knew that there was more.  
  
"And…?"  
  
"And deadly."  
  
"Evil? A creature of shadow?"   
  
"Not of himself, no. But he will be a focus of passion, of longing, and of despair. His presence on Middle Earth will cause grief to countless souls, and death to some."  
  
"This is grievous news indeed. Should we warn Thranduil? Should we advise him to send the child to Valinor where he can do no harm?""  
  
"No."   
  
"Why not?"  
  
She cast a bitter glance at him. "Apart from the fact that my scrying can be grossly misinterpreted" – Celeborn looked uncomfortable but kept silent – "I think that Legolas may also be the key to the final overthrow of Sauron."  
  
"How is that?"  
  
"You know that several times in the mirror I have seen a human man wielding Narsil reforged, fighting the dark forces. I have hoped that what I see is the moment when the Dark Lord is overthrown forever." She shivered, and Celeborn hugged her close.  
  
"I know, love. And we all hope that it will come to pass."  
  
"Tonight I saw another face, behind that man's. An elf, who looked like Thranduil but was not Thranduil, nor Oropher. I think it may have been Legolas."  
  
"Was he with the man or against him?"  
  
"I could not tell. They fought, but not each other. It was dark, and raining, and I could not see clearly…as usual." She sighed.   
  
Celeborn reached out to her. "We shall invite Legolas here when he has reached his majority and you can see him in person."   
  
"Yes, it may be easier to view his spirit here in the forest." She rested her head on Celeborn's shoulder. "You are ever my comfort and strength, my dear."  
  
He held her close, and stroked her hair as she relaxed against him. After all centuries together, all the wars and destruction, not to mention the disaster he had precipitated during the Last Alliance, their love was still strong after many centuries, and he was thankful that they had survived. But he, who was of the Sindar, had been born in Doriath, and he was atuned to the soil and the trees of Middle-Earth in a way that Galadriel could only dimly comprehend. He could sense that their time was nearly over: only a few more centuries in this green and pleasant land, and then it would be lost to them. But not now, not just yet.   
  
He closed his eyes, and breathed in the fragrance of her hair.   
  
TBC… 


	2. Chapter 1: The Golden Wood

Pride, Passion and Prejudice  
  
Chapter 1: The Golden Wood  
  
Alassenya  
  
In which Prince Legolas travels to Lothlórien and makes a number of startling discoveries.  
  
Text Notes:  
  
Calen Glad - the Greenwood, the old name for Mirkwood, still used by Thranduil and his subjects. Other elves call it Fuin Glad (Dark Wood).   
  
Orothon - "Tall Pine": an analagous form to Oropher "Tall Beech" (not glossed by Tolkien, but fairly clear from the Etymologies). Thranduil's elder son.  
  
Angbor - "Iron Fist" - High Guardian of Caras Galadhon.  
  
Malendal – "Golden foot". A friend of Rúmil's.  
  
Talan (pl telain) - a tree-platform or flet, housing most of the residences in Caras Galadhon.  
  
Dorwinion – a land between Mirkwood and the Sea of Rhûn, famed for its heavy wines.  
  
On ages and behaviour of elves: I apply Tolkien's 40% ratio for the first 50 years, then I use a personal rule of thumb that allows one human year of emotional development for each 50 years of elven life, ie a 100-year-old elf would act as a 21-year old human; a 400-year-old elf would be about 27 and starting to settle down; a 1000-year-old elf would have the detachment of a 38 year old, and a 3000-year-old elf would be as calm and serene as a 78 year old. It works for me. [NB the twins seem to be an exception - as usual.]   
  
Lothlórien, III 2473 Summer   
  
Legolas could not understand why his brother was so morose. They were only a few miles from the northern boundary of Lothlórien, further from Calen Glad than he had ever been before, and Legolas could feel his excitement increasing by the minute.   
  
He was going to the Golden Wood! For all his young life the words had signified a realm of magic, of a blessed haven far from orcs and spiders and dragons, where laughter was more common than lamentation, and where the legendary waters of the Nimrodel sang sweetly as they met the Celebrant. It was a land of dreams and hopes, not of shadow and pain.  
  
When the invitation to attend the summer festival had arrived, Legolas had not even dared to hope that he might be permitted to go. Thranduil, once he had decided to accept the offer from Lórien, had indicated that his elder son Orothon would lead the party. Legolas had been cast down, but had said nothing, merely wondering to himself how long it would be before his father considered him old enough to carry out any official duties - at 83 he was three decades into his majority but it was obvious that his father still considered him little more than an elfling. But then Thranduil had smiled at him, saying that he would go too, and smiled even more at the look of joy on his son's face.  
  
It was a pity, thought Legolas, that he had to be under the care of Orothon, so much older, so much more serious, so much (said everyone) like his grandfather Oropher. Orothon's presence would make it difficult for Legolas to be as frivolous and irresponsible as he wanted to be. But at least he was here, and in a few hours he would see the forest with his own eyes.  
  
And now they were approaching the northern boundary of the forest, and Legolas was searching the trees and shrubs for signs of the guardians that Orothon had told him would be here. He felt a sense of peace enfold him, almost as if he were coming home - but he had never been here before.  
  
It was not long before two Lórien guardians appeared before them, emerging from the shadows at the point where the path entered the forest, flanked by several more in the undergrowth and in the trees. They were dressed in muted greens and greys, rather than the deep greens and browns of Calen Glad, and Legolas realised, looking around, that his own garb would not be as effective at hiding him here as it would be at home. The thought unsettled him, but there was little that he could do about it now. He wondered how long it would take him to acquire clothing in the local colours so that he could slip through Lothlórien as easily as he did through Calen Glad.   
  
After the customary greetings and courtesies, two of the guardians turned back with the Mirkwood party and led them along the path, which quickly became a rough track. The other guardians melted away, so unobtrusively that Legolas was unable to recall just when they had disappeared from view. His interest was piqued, for though he was proud of his people's woodcraft, he suspected that these Lórien elves might be even better.  
  
It was early evening when they reached Cerin Amroth, where they readily agreed to rest overnight and continue on to Caras Galadhon in the morning. They made a small campfire, to heat water for tea, and dined on the last of the lembas and some dried fruits before rolling out their bedding. They posted no guards, for the Lórien elves had assured them that the patrols would keep the wood safe from intruders. Legolas lay awake and looked up through a bare patch in the forest canopy to the stars, his thoughts full of the coming tournament and all the prizes that he was determined to win for Calen Glad.   
  
* * *   
  
The following morning they were on their way soon after dawn, and reached the city gates before noon. Orothon and Legolas were escorted to the royal talan while the   
  
remainder of their party set about unloading the horses.   
  
Legolas looked with amazement as Galadriel and Celeborn come to greet them. They were of equal height, the tallest elves he had ever seen, and possibly the fairest. Galadriel was a vision of awe and majesty, with shining golden hair and the sharp features of the Noldor. Her eyes - he had never seen eyes like Galadriel's! - carried in them the memory of the Two Trees of Valinor. Her gaze was penetrating even while her smile was wide and welcoming.  
  
Celeborn was at once more fearsome and less frightening than the lady. The long robe could not disguise the warrior prince of Doriath and Eregion, and Legolas hoped that he would have the opportunity to hear Celeborn speak of his part in those battles which were described so dryly in his father's scrolls. Celeborn's silver hair hung almost to his waist, and was plainly bound, with no decoration, as if to emphasise that he did not need Thranduil's crown or Elrond's elaborate braids to mark his status in his own realm. His features were slightly softer than his wife's, and Legolas thought that he could spot the faint resemblance to Thranduil that spoke of their Sindarin heritage and distant blood ties.  
  
Celeborn spoke first. "Welcome, Orothon Thranduilion. It is many a year since the Golden Wood had been graced with your presence." They bowed to each other, then Celeborn turned to Legolas. "Welcome to Lothlórien, Legolas. I have heard that you are a formidable archer. I look forward to seeing you compete in the tournament."  
  
Legolas blushed and stammered. He was good at archery – better than Orothon – and one of his secret hopes was to win a prize to take home to his father. Celeborn's smile was sympathetic, and Legolas found himself smiling back warmly.  
  
"Thank you, sir. I hope to do well."  
  
"I am sure that you will."   
  
Galadriel was now speaking to Orothon, welcoming him and his party, and expressing her hope that this visit might lead to a warmer relationship between Lothlórien and Calen Glad.   
  
"Indeed, my lady, it is my earnest wish that all the Elvish peoples should achieve a greater understanding and unite against the dark Shadow that comes once more to our beloved land."   
  
Legolas barely suppressed a snort. Orothon had a tendency to pomposity that became much worse when he was nervous, and he was prone to uttering sentences that verged on the ridiculous. Somehow he never realised this, which Legolas considered a blessing as it afforded him ample opportunities for amusement.  
  
He dared not meet the eye of Celeborn or Galadriel for fear of bursting into laughter, and so stood with his head meekly bowed, biting his lip, until Galadriel had murmured her thanks and led Orothon off to the talan for some refreshment, leaving her husband to escort Legolas.   
  
* * *   
  
After they had been shown their chambers, where their attendants were already unpacking, Celeborn took them to another talan higher up the mallorn, where there was a view over Caras Galadhon. A small collation was laid out and Legolas noted some unfamiliar fruits. He asked Celeborn about them, and the tale of their origins led to talk of trade routes and bandits and orcs, and the rising shadow in the East. Although Celeborn's tone was was courteous, he seemed to be paying closer attention to Legolas than his words indicated. Several times Legolas looked up to find Celeborn looking intently at him, as one would do when examining a new horse – or a potential enemy. But as Legolas was about to ask his host the reason for this examination, he saw Celeborn's expression change, and turned. There stood Galadriel, no less radiant in the sunshine than she had been in the dim light of the forest floor.   
  
Celeborn smiled, and held out his hand to her. She smiled in return, bending to kiss his cheek. Then she turned to Legolas and Orothon, who had risen to their feet. The princes sat down again at her gesture, and watched as she selected a single piece of fruit for her meal. Celeborn took it from her and cut it into slices, arranging them in a crescent on the plate before returning it to her. She smiled her thanks and began to eat.   
  
Legolas was quietly amazed at their actions - they had been together for so many thousands of years that every movement was anticipated, and yet they still treated each other with a silent courtesy and respect that was rare. Legolas felt a pang of envy - his mother had rarely spent any time with his father after his birth, and there was no great affection between them. Something in him stirred - a longing, a desire, to be as close to another as Galadriel was to Celeborn.   
  
* * *   
  
The next morning Celeborn escorted the brothers around the city, pointing out the main structures. Caras Galadhon was not large, but it served as the hub of many smaller communities scattered throughout the forest. There was a small market, a large garrison, and numerous craft halls, including some large ovens for communal use. Celeborn explained that only tiny charcoal braziers were permitted in the residential telain for safety reasons.   
  
The garrison interested them both, and Celeborn took them inside to meet the High Guardian, Angbor, who welcomed them. They were shown the armoury, the practice yard and the dormitory, which was only used by a few of the guardians, most having their own telain somewhere in the city.  
  
They were introduced to several of the marchwardens currently on city rotation. All seemed eager to meet the visitors and to swap tales of encounters with orcs and wargs and dragons. They were interested to hear of the spiders of Mirkwood, though few had seen them.   
  
"We have heard of them, of course," said Malendal, a bright-faced elf with strawberry-blond hair, "but not many of us have seen them, or had to fight them."  
  
One of the other elves nodded to the door, where a flaxen-haired elf was entering. "Haldir has."  
  
The elf approached the group. "Haldir has what?"  
  
"You've fought the Fuin Glad spiders."  
  
"Yes, though it was many years ago now." Haldir did not appear to relish the memory, and turned to the Mirkwood elves. "Prince Orothon, it is many years since I had the pleasure of seeing you. You were away on my last visit to Calen Glad - let me see - it must be sixty years ago now."  
  
"Yes, I have been away from the Halls for extended periods these last few decades. My father is keen that I become familiar with all parts of his realm and the lands around Calen Glad, the better to be able to help him in trade dealings. It is gratifying to reflect on how often I have been able to provide him with precisely the information he requires. A few years ago I even ventured as far as Dorwinion, the better to view the vinyards, with the result that our last trade agreement was significantly more favourable to Calen Glad."  
  
Haldir did not seem to find the matter quite as fascinating as Orothon. He gave a brief smile and turned to Legolas with a questioning look.   
  
Celeborn stepped in. "Prince Legolas, may I introduce Haldir, one of our most skilled marchwardens. He will be contesting the archery prize for Lórien this year. Haldir, this is Orothon's younger brother, who has developed some fine skills himself, if what I hear is true."  
  
Haldir looked at Legolas again, this time with a spark of interest that had not been there previously. "Prince Legolas." He gave the formal gesture of greeting, then smiled teasingly. "I trust that you will not be laying any traps for me in Lothlórien, highness."  
  
Legolas looked blank for a moment, then blushed a deep crimson as a memory surfaced from his childhood. "That was you?" he squeaked, immediately mortified by the sound.  
  
"It was indeed."  
  
"What did he do, Haldir?" Rúmil's eager question was cut short by Haldir, who saw the anger flare in Orothon's face, and the dismay in Legolas's.   
  
"A trifling indiscretion of childhood, which was forgiven long ago, and which I should have forgotten in truth as well as in form. I am sorry that I mentioned it. Please forgive me for having embarrassed you, highness."  
  
Legolas found his voice with some difficulty. "Of course you are forgiven, Marchwarden, as you forgave me." He forced himself to lift his eyes to Haldir's and noted the concern there. He ventured a shy smile and Haldir smiled back.   
  
"And now we should return to the talan," Celeborn declared, sweeping off the visitors and engaging Orothon in a discussion of garrison design that lasted until well after luncheon, while Haldir fended off Rúmil's questions on the precise nature of Legolas's "indiscretion".  
  
* * *   
  
After the evening meal Legolas craved more lively company and headed back to the garrison. He was delighted to meet Rúmil and Malendal, who promptly appointed themselves his guides. The city was filling with visitors for the festival, the few taverns were full and there were many groups camping out on the forest floor in addition to those staying in telain. It made for a merry crowd.  
  
They walked from group to group, sharing songs and stories, laughing and talking, drinking the light ale that was available everywhere. They joined an impromptu dance or two along their way, and Legolas found that he was a popular target for bold elf-maidens. In one or two instances he had to exert all of his court skills to extricate himself from their arms without causing offence. It wouldn't do to give Orothon another excuse to berate him like a child.   
  
As the night progressed, the dancing petered out, the songs became ballads, and the talk softened to a background hum. Groups of rowdy elves were replaced by couples wandering hand in hand, sometimes pausing to exchange a kiss in the shadow of a mallorn. Legolas looked on them fondly and a little sadly, wishing that he had someone to embrace.   
  
Then he looked more closely at the couple in front of him and almost gasped in astonishment. Not a male and a female, but two males were kissing there! They were in shadow, yes, but still in full view of anyone who cared to cast a glance in their direction. He looked discreetly around the group but saw no sign of disgust or anger on the faces around him. The only other elf who appeared to be watching the couple was Rúmil, and his expression was, if anything, envious.  
  
Silently, Legolas ruminated on this difference between Mirkwood and Lothlórien.  
  
* * *   
  
"…and his lips! Such luscious ripe lips, begging to be kissed. I would dearly love to taste them." Rúmil was sighing as he and Malendal entered the talan later, having steered the prince back to his hosts.   
  
Haldir looked up from his book. "Need I ask who is the object of your lust, brother?"  
  
Rúmil laughed. "You know very well. The golden prince of the gloomy wood! How such a dark forest could produce such a beauty escapes my comprehension."  
  
"As does a great deal, little brother." Haldir dodged as the cushion flew by him to hit the wall and fall harmlessly to the floor.   
  
"But seriously, Haldir," Malendal said, as he flung himself down on Haldir's left, "he is truly delicious, don't you think? Those eyes, that skin, that hair.."  
  
Rúmil landed on Haldir's right and threw his arms around his brother. "That firm behind, that interesting bulge in his leggings which his tunic never seems to cover…"  
  
"Do you think he cut the tunic short on purpose?" Malendal giggled.  
  
"No, for his brother's is the same length. It must be the custom in Fuin Glad."  
  
"Then by all means let us go to Fuin Glad and look at the elves in their short tunics."  
  
Haldir shrugged off Rúmil's embrace, closed his book and rose to his feet. "I can see that I will get no peace here while you two discuss the attractions of Fuin Glad."  
  
"Only one attraction, brother dear. Orothon is a pompous bore. Eru save the forest if he ever succeeds Thranduil."  
  
Haldir frowned at Rúmil's facile insult. "Orothon may not be as beautiful as Legolas, or as easily amused, but he does his duty as a prince and as a warrior. He has fought his share oforcs, and spiders and dragons too. And Fuin Glad will be better served by Orothon's seriousness than by Legolas's frivolity. Do not allow yourself to misled by a fair face."   
  
"So you do think him fair?" Rúmil teased.  
  
"It requires no great discernment to see that he has both beauty and a pleasant demeanour. I do, however, think him too young for much wisdom or judgement. Try your luck with him if you must, but be careful – I don't think that Orothon would tolerate his little brother being debauched by the likes of you and your friends."  
  
"Thank you for the advice, O Ancient One," mocked Rúmil, as Malendal giggled. "I shall be sure to keep you informed of my progress with the pretty prince."  
  
Haldir merely grunted and left the talan, irritated and unsettled, though he could not have said why.  
  
* * *   
  
The day before the tournament, the princes broke their fast with Galadriel and Celeborn as usual, then Celeborn took Orothon off to his study to continue their discussions. Galadriel was silent for a while after they left, but the way she gazed steadily at Legolas made him feel exposed, as if she was seeing his very soul.   
  
"I think, Legolas, that I shall take this opportunity to show you something." She led the way down the steps and through the town towards a dense growth of trees. The canopy cut out much of the sunlight, leaving them in dim twilight, and Legolas began to feel as uneasy as he felt in some parts of Mirkwood. He slowed, and would have turned back, but her voice filled his head as she commanded him to follow her, and he had no choice but to obey.   
  
Silently she took his hand, and he felt the tingle of power in her as she led him further through the woods until the trees opened up into a small sunny glade, where a small stream splashed over the rocks. It was a peaceful spot, but there was little peace in his heart as again Galadriel stood and looked at him intently once more.  
  
"My Lady, it appears that there is something in my face that displeases you and the Lord Celeborn," he said, anxious and a little annoyed at this close attention.  
  
Galadriel settled herself on a boulder and ran her toes through the grass. "It is not your face that concerns me, Legolas, but your fate."  
  
"My fate?"  
  
"You know that I have the gift of foresight?" At his nod, she continued. "It is a fickle gift, capricious and untameable. I do not see the future, but rather a selection of futures, any one of which may come to pass."  
  
"You have seen a future in which I have some role."   
  
"I have indeed, but whether it is the future that will occur I cannot tell. Now that you have passed your majority I hoped to meet you and gain some knowledge of your spirit." She smiled at him, but he wasn't so easily fooled. She might be smiling now, but like all the Noldor she could be absolutely ruthless when necessary.  
  
"You may ask what you will, lady," he agreed, cautiously.  
  
She laughed. "There is no need for such deep concern, my dear Legolas, and no need for much questioning. I have learned almost all that I needed to know from you already. However, I must ask you to carry out one task for me."   
  
She rose, and walked past Legolas to a small spring, taking a up a jug and filling it from the clear water. She emptied the jug into a silver bowl that stood on a pedestal in the centre of the glade.   
  
"Behold the mirror of Galadriel," she said, in a quiet voice. "Look into the mirror, Legolas, and tell me what you see."  
  
Legolas approached the bowl, and watched as the water's surface slowly stilled. For minutes, nothing happened, and he looked up at Galadriel, concerned. "I cannot see anything, my lady", he complained.  
  
"Let your mind drift, let your thoughts be free."  
  
He turned back to the water, whose surface was now mirror-smooth, and tried to relax. He was not at all sure that this was such a good thing. He would much prefer to be exploring the forest on his own, or getting some archery practice, since he had had little opportunity to use his bow while they were travelling. He wanted to do well in the tournament, for Calen Glad's sake, for his father's sake. He could almost see himself now, celebrating his triumph, beaming around at the audience, accepting the congratulations of his brother and his friends.   
  
Suddenly, he realised that he wasn't just imagining this scene: he was seeing it in the surface of the mirror. Fascinated, he leaned closer, but the picture changed. He saw scenes that shifted and changed from moment to moment: glimpses of himself; glimpses of others. As soon as he tried to concentrate on one scene, it would shift, vision succeeding vision until it made him dizzy:  
  
himself, running for his life in a dark cavern, almost overwhelmed by terror and grief, the foosteps of others echoing his own, the feeling of a menace beyond words following them;   
  
an argument, involving elves and men and dwarves, and even some children, and a premonition of doom in his throat;   
  
two men, a dwarf and two dark-haired elves swearing fealty to one of the children – but was it a child? – as Legolas strode angily from the chamber;  
  
his brother Orothon, his face glowing, holding out a newborn child to Legolas.   
  
a dark-haired, bearded, unkempt human, whose face was alive with laughter though he wielded a bloody sword;   
  
the same man, older and dressed in rich robes, looking haunted and grim;   
  
a blond elf, his face turned away, stuffing clothes into a saddlebag with jerky, angry movements;   
  
a seashore, watching the sun rise, loving arms around him and a sense of overwhelming peace;   
  
Calen Glad, great swathes of the forest laid waste by fire, and a dragon coming for him, fire reaching out for him as he stood, unable to move;   
  
his father, turning away from him, his face hard and contemptuous, reflecting his own shame – but for what deed?   
  
himself, in iron bands, being led to a scaffold, looking up at the axe that was about to end his immortal life;   
  
a battlefield, enormous, facing an army that must have numbered tens of thousands;   
  
himself, again, cradling a blood-soaked body, the face obscured by mud and lank blond hair and his own tears, the grief overwhelming him, his breath stopped by the pain in his chest, looking up to see an orc – the largest orc he had ever seen – raise a crude sword to smite him….  
  
He fell back with a cry, unable to take in any more of the horrors that had been shown to him. White-faced, he turned to Galadriel, whose face was more serious than ever.   
  
"Did you see what I saw?" he whispered.  
  
"Yes, I did." Her voice was low, and very serious.  
  
"Will all that I see happen?"  
  
"I cannot tell. Nothing is sure until it has happened. All that you saw could come to pass if the right sequence of events is set in place. If not…then the future you experience will not be any of the ones you saw. Only Ilúvatar can see the future with precision. Even the Valar see only dimly."  
  
"Why was there so much pain, so much death?"  
  
Galadriel thought for a minute before replying. "It is no secret, Legolas, that the Shadow is stirring again. Dol Guldur has poisoned your father's realm so that people now call it Fuin Glad. The hearts of men turn to deceit and theft. There is darkness once more in the East and the South, and it will grow until we are forced to fight it once more. I believe that you will have a part to play in that fight, though to what extent I cannot say."  
  
"Why me? Why not my father? Why not Orothon?"  
  
"I don't know, Legolas. The mirror reveals only glimpses, never a full picture."   
  
"But you must know more! You have had this mirror for thousands of years; you must know how to control it!"  
  
"You are wrong. No one controls this. Even I cannot see clearly at times, dearly though I might wish to!" She took a deep breath, and calmed herself. "This I can tell you: that some futures are more settled and robust than others. In them, no matter what any one person or one nation does, other events appear to compensate, and the general direction of that future is unchanged. Others are more sensitive – the actions of a kingdom, or a group, may change the future. It appears to me that we approach a future so fragile, so delicately balanced, that the actions of a few individuals will have enormous consequences. The world will be irrevocably changed, but whether it is for better or for worse I do not yet know. I think that you may be one of those individuals whose actions will determine the future of the world."  
  
Legolas was silent. He contemplated her words in astonishment. Yes, he might be a Prince of Calen Glad, but he was only a younger son, and not very knowledgable yet. How could he possibly be expected to make decisions that would change the world?  
  
"When will this happen?" he asked.  
  
"Not for some time, I think. The Shadow is growing, but it has not yet taken form. It may be centuries, or it may be only decades, before it regains all its former power. But it will return, and we will have to fight it once more.   
  
"One thing is clear to me, Legolas," she continued. You come from a line of princes, valiant, noble and proud. But you must beware of pride. Pride caused the Noldor to be exiled from Aman; it caused Oropher's death at the gates of Mordor; it keeps Thranduil shut away inside himself, when…" she stopped, suddenly, and was silent for some minutes.   
  
Legolas did not dare ask what his father might have lost through pride, but his mind conjured up a host of nightmare visions.   
  
Galadriel raised her hand to cup his face, and her voice was sombre and compelling. "Legolas Thranduilion, you will face hard choices in your life, harder than most. Take courage, listen to your heart instead of your head, and choose well." He met her gaze, and nodded, but her eyes were dark and sad, as if she knew already that her advice might not be heeded.  
  
* * *   
  
Celeborn was content. The tournament had gone well so far, with honours spread evenly across the elven realms. Orothon had achieved a creditable second place in the swordfights, though he had not looked pleased to be beaten by a Noldo from Imladris. In knives, he had not done so well, but Celeborn was not surprised - knives required more agility and faster reactions, and Orothon needed more practice. It was all very well to fight spiders and dragons, but their cunning was as nothing in comparison with an experienced elven warrior. He would mention it to Orothon later, perhaps offering to spar with the prince himself. That would go a long way to taking the sting out from the criticism.  
  
His thoughts were brought back to the present by the crowd, applauding Gilros as he won his round. So, the final three were Gilros of the Havens, Legolas of Mirkwood and Haldir of Lórien. It would be a good contest. Of course, he hoped that Haldir would win, for the glory of Lórien, but he wouldn't mind seeing Gilros take the prize - he was a trusted colleague and a fine warrior, and had won the tournament in previous years. Legolas, now - he wasn't sure about Legolas. The boy was gifted, there was no doubt about that, but he was very young. A prize now might do him more harm than good, and that concerned him. He had grown fond of the youngster, who had hung upon his every word as he described how he had fought in the War of Wrath and the Last Alliance, and he felt a need to protect him from the dark future Galadriel had spoken of at his birth.   
  
The final round was to be the best of three shots, each at a different target. Each archer would have a turn at being first, second and third, so that no one was disadvantaged. That was the theory. Legolas drew the option marked 3 1 2, and smiled. He would have preferred 1 2 3 of course, but one couldn't have everything.  
  
All three targets were identical – a series of concentric circles in bands of yellow, red and blue moving out from a small black centre. The circles became progressively narrower towards the centre, the better to measure the distance from the black mark, and the centre itself was barely three arrows'-width. The three finalists inspected the targets, agreeing that they were, in fact identical, and walked back to the mark. Legolas felt the breeze on his face and frowned. The wind was light but it changed direction constantly. If it continued, it would contribute an element of luck that might outweigh his skill.   
  
Haldir, who had drawn the coveted 1 2 3, opened the round by shooting an arrow into the black, but touching the border with the yellow. Yes, thought Legolas, the wind will definitely play a part in this match. Gilros followed, his arrow being entirely in the black but not in the centre. Legolas aimed, released and thanked the Valar as he saw his arrow sink into the black, closer to the centre than Gilros. The three points were his.  
  
At the second target Legolas shot first, and uttered a soft curse under his breath as his eyes followed the arrow to the target. He could have sworn that there was no wind, but his arrow, unmistakably, end up in the yellow band – almost into the red. He was dismayed, the more so when Haldir shot his arrow into the black, just off-centre. Gilros, faced with the unenviable task of trying to shoot into a centre already occupied by an arrow, played safe and shot just to the side of Haldir's arrow, in the black but a little further from the centre.   
  
Legolas tried to control his breathing. The scores were dead level – four points each. Everything would depend on the last round.   
  
Gilros opened with an arrow that straddled the border between yellow and black. Legolas stepped up and took out his last arrow, gently caressing the feathers. He nocked the arrow, then raised his bow, looking down the field to the target. It was so small in the distance, so far away, so out of reach…   
  
He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. It seemed as if the forest around him faded, and the only things in existence were his bow, his arrow and the target in front of him. He concentrated, allowing nothing to be sensed except the arrow, the bow and the wind. He sensed a slight easing of the breeze, and adjusted his aim, waiting for the perfect moment. All was silence around him. Then he let go, and the arrow flew from him as if it had a will of its own. The dull thud as it struck home was clearly audible in the field, then the cheering started.  
  
Legolas could hardly believe his eyes. His arrow was stuck in the black, only a fraction off the dead centre of the target. So, he had definitely beaten Gilros, but it was up to Haldir now to determine the winner.   
  
He waited, anxiously, for Haldir to take his shot. He had heard legends of elves who could split an arrow, and if anyone could do that, it would be Haldir. Again, the entire field became silent as Haldir stepped up to the mark and drew his final arrow.   
  
He was a magnificent sight, standing in the sunshine, his bow raised, his arrow nocked, all his concentration focussed on the target. Legolas thought that he had never seen anything as beautiful as this elf. He held his breath with the rest of the audience as Haldir became one with his bow. Seconds passed, and Legolas wondered how Haldir could hold the heavy bow motionless for so long. Thud! The arrow hit the target, and Legolas expected to hear the crowd cheer for their own, and instead he heard a collective sigh of disappointment.   
  
Haldir grimaced. He had felt the treacherous breath of wind the instant after he had released the arrow, and he nodded grimly as the target revealed his arrow to be fractionally further from the centre than Legolas's. He fought to conceal his disappointment and turned to the prince, forcing himself to congratulate the youngster. But Legolas, though his eyes were shining at the realisation that he had won, surprised him by saying "I am sorry that the wind robbed you of your victory, Haldir. I expected to see your arrow piercing my own."   
  
Haldir gave a rueful smile. "So did I, highness, so did I."   
  
They clasped forearms briefly, and Legolas felt Haldir's strength and warmth, even through their clothing. He looked into Haldir's eyes and saw that they were hazel: green and brown with grey flecks, like Lórien itself. He wanted to say something, to tell the guardian how much he had enjoyed pitting his skill against him. But Gilros was offering his congratulations as well, and the others started to arrive: Orothon, beaming and expansive; Haldir's brothers, at once glad to see their older brother taken down a peg and irritated that he had been beaten; Celeborn, with approbation for the winner and commiseration for the losers.   
  
The winner and the runner-up were soon parted by the crowd, and though Legolas looked back, seeking Haldir's face, he did not find it.  
  
* * *   
  
Some hours later, Legolas was sighing as he struggled with his tunic. Why did the festival have to conclude with a formal dinner when the weather was so hot that a simple shirt was too warm? It had not cooled down at all since noon. The few breaths of wind that had caused so much havoc on the tourney field had died away, and though the mellyrn provided shade, the heat of the sun had penetrated even into the heart of the city. Accustomed as he was to Mirkwood's cool glades, he had found Lothlórien a little too warm on each day of their visit, but today was testing him beyond endurance.   
  
He was tired, he was hot, and he was not nearly as happy as he ought to be after having won the prize only a few hours earlier. What was wrong with him?  
  
He sighed again, took a deep breath, and eased himself into the tunic. He was checking his braids, when Orothon came in, and he turned, saying, "So, brother, am I presentable?"  
  
Orothon made a few adjustments to the fit fo the tunic, then looked at him critically. "You'll do. Where's your fillet?"  
  
"Do I have to wear it?"  
  
"It's a formal dinner, Legolas - a state occasion, and you are representing the King of Calen Glad. Of course you have to wear it. Where is it?"  
  
"In the top drawer, there."  
  
Orothon pulled it out and placed it on his brother's head. It was a finely-wrought mithril band, with two simple curls at the back, less ornate than his own, and much less so than their father's crown, but it brought out the lustre in the golden hair and added sparkle to eyes already bright as sapphires. Once it was settled to his satisfaction he led them both down the mallorn to the clearing.  
  
More than one pair of eyes was drawn to the pair as they made their way with Celeborn and Galadriel to the high table. While their looks had been noted before, no one could deny the effect of silk and mithril in enhancing the natural beauty of elven face and form. Galadriel smiled to see the youngsters the object of so much attention. "A pretty pair of princes indeed," she murmured to Celeborn. He nodded his agreement, but there was a shadow in his eyes as he looked at them that did not escape his wife's attention. She covered his hand with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze.   
  
Although termed a formal dinner, it seemed strangely casual to the two Mirkwood elves, who were used to the more rigid customs of Thranduil's court. There were no formal speeches (apart from Celeborn's brief greeting at the start of the meal), and no toasts. As the feasting progressed, elves moved around, greeting friends old and new, laughing and joking. Even the high table was not immune to such fluidity, with Galadriel herself flitting from place to place, spreading her merriment to all around her.   
  
Legolas decided that if it was good enough for Galadriel, it was good enough for him, and so he slipped away and wandered around for a while, trying to find Haldir. But either the marchwarden had left early or had never come at all, for he was not to be found. On returning to the high table, Legolas found that Orothon had a guardian on each side, plying him with drink. He sighed: Rúmil and Malendal. He had gently but firmly put off their advances some days previously, and had hoped that that would be the end of it, but it appeared now as if a little mithril had gone to their heads. Surely they could see that Orothon was not of their nature?  
  
He took another turn around the tables and joined in songs and dances. When he eventually returned to the talan, some hours later, he found Orothon fuming – not only had the general revelry become more licentious than he found appropriate, but, as Legolas had foreseen, one of the galadhrim had made an improper advance, and his dignity was affronted.  
  
"He put his hand right on my leggings, Legolas. My leggings! A guardian of the forest. A soldier!"  
  
"Oh, that would be Malendal, probably. He's a bit more forward than Rúmil." His mild response was obviously not the one Orothon had expected him to make, and he decided to risk a small tease. Picking up an apple, he assumed an innocent expression and asked: "Which angers you more, brother – his rank or his sex?"   
  
Orothon exploded just as Legolas had hoped. "I cannot believe that you take this so lightly! I discover that the leves of Lothlórien indulge in Unnatural Practices -" Legolas could actualy hear the capital letters in his head "-as well as Familiarities of all descriptions, and you sit there calmly eating an apple!"  
  
"Well, the food was all eaten hours ago and I've been dancing. And I didn't think you'd have any difficulty putting them off. They're quite good fellows really. They didn't worry me after I said no."  
  
A terrible suspicion seized Orothon. "You were importuned yourself and did not tell me?"  
  
"There was nothing to tell. They asked, I refused. They did not ask again. What more needs to be done?"  
  
"This is insupportable! I will not allow my little brother to be subject to the depravity of these elves a moment longer."  
  
"It was hardly depravity just to be asked. They do things differently here, Orothon."  
  
"I know that things are different here. I just did not realise how different!" He began to stride around the room like one demented. "Father warned me of the Decadent Morals of Lothlórien. I, as you know, pride myself on having an Open Mind -" Legolas almost choked at this, but managed, with great effort, to keep a straight face "- and I was prepared to observe the customs and practices here as an Impartial Witness. Indeed, after our first few days here I hoped to be able to report back to our father that his views were no longer valid and that the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, though tending to a degree of Egalitarianism and Levity that is perhaps unbecoming in Eldar of their age and state, presided over a People of Simple Habits and Seemly Virtue. Now, however, I see that their Laxity has permitted – even encouraged – these Pernicious Activities to spread beyond the confines of the guardhouse to the Whole Population."   
  
After a few more minutes of similar rhetoric, Orothon made his decision: they would depart for Calen Glad the next day. Legolas sighed, for he loved this city of songs and laughter, but he knew he had no choice but to obey.   
  
* * *   
  
Although Legolas had very much enjoyed baiting his brother, his mood became despondent after they had retired to bed. For what Orothon did not know was that Legolas himself was drawn to those "Unnatural Practices" which his brother found so disgusting, and his refusal of Rúmil and Malendal had been out of self-protection rather than inclination. From his earliest age Legolas had admired the soldiers who kept Calen Glad safe, and those who helped his father administer the forest. The kisses he imagined, the caresses he dreamed of, were always with a male. It was his good fortune that his age and status had saved him from the predations of those in the guard who were similarly inclined until a chance conversation with Mithrandir, shortly before he reached his majority, had alerted him to the danger he faced if he openly revealed his preferences.  
  
"Legolas, my boy," Mithrandir had said as he sat and smoked some of the obnoxious pipeweed that he always carried, "it is not my wish to tell you to deceive your father, but neither is it my wish to see you despised and perhaps disowned. Your father may be forced to tolerate such liaisons within the barracks, but I doubt that he will tolerate them within his own court, and particularly not within his own family. I do not know why he holds such strong views, but you must believe me when I tell you that you are in a perilous situation here."  
  
Legolas had listened to him, and had taken his advice to heart. After he came of age he had evaded the several advances that had been made to him, and more easily than he had anticipated, for although his body craved caresses his heart was not deeply touched by the elves around him. He would not risk his place in his father's realm for any of them.   
  
Now, more than thirty years after his majority, he had begun to think that he would never find that one person with whom he could share his dreams. It had been a shock to him to discover that in Lothlórien a love between males was considered as natural as love between a male and a female: something to be nurtured and celebrated, not hidden away in dark corners.   
  
It had been even more of a shock to find himself falling for a pair of clear hazel eyes, silver-gilt hair and a strong muscular frame, being the salient features of that particular guardian called Haldir. He had been well-pleased to find Haldir with him in the final round. It had been a joy to be matched so closely, to be forced to concentrate so hard, to gather up every ounce of power and control and use them to send his arrows straight to the centre of the target. They had fought each other and the wind, and Legolas had won. Had he imagined the warmth in Haldir's eyes as they clasped hands after the contest? The grip had been warm and firm on his arm, and he could not help thinking of how Haldir's hands might feel on his body. Legolas had been consumed by a desire to step forward and throw himself against Haldir's broad chest, to be enfolded by those arms, to be kissed by those lips, to be cherished by this warrior among elves. He had not done so, simply because of the others around them, but he had hoped that the opportunity might have arisen later. He had looked for Haldir at the feast, but he had not been able to find him. And now, after Orothon's outburst, they would leave the next day. It wasn't fair!  
  
He tossed and turned in his bed, the heat of the night combining with the burning in his body to torment him. He couldn't leave without seeing Haldir once more! He knew roughly where the brothers' talan was, and suddenly found himself on his feet, grabbing leggings and a shirt, determined to find Haldir and ask him …  
  
He slipped silently down the stairs that wound around the trunk of the great mallorn, and walked towards the trees that housed the talans of the commoner folk. There were still sounds of revelry in the distance, but there was no one in his immediate vicinity. While that meant he wasn't observed, it also meant that there was no one to help him find the specific talan he wanted. He didn't want to risk ridicule by climbing up to the wrong talan, but on the other hand he didn't want to spend all night searching.   
  
As he reached the trees, however, he thanked the Valar, who were obviously helping him this night, for there in front of him was the very elf he sought. Haldir came down the last few steps, wearing only leggings but with a towel over his shoulder, whistling softly to himself. As he headed off towards the river, Legolas set out after him.  
  
…./2  
  
(but not on this site, unfortunately) 


End file.
